


A New Man

by coaldustcanary



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Getting Back Together, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Oberyn Martell Monologues a Lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:09:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28706460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coaldustcanary/pseuds/coaldustcanary
Summary: When Stannis Baratheon is sent to Dorne to quell the hearts of potential rebels against his brother's rule, it is Davos whose heart is wary of what meeting a past acquaintance might mean for his love for his liege.It's no matter for concern; after all, Oberyn isn't the jealous sort. He's more than willing to share.
Relationships: Stannis Baratheon/Oberyn Martell/Davos Seaworth
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7
Collections: Holly Poly 2020





	A New Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [greygerbil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greygerbil/gifts).



Beneath a bright sun pouring out light as thick and golden as honey over the deck of _Steffon’s Stag_ , Davos stood at his lord’s elbow and looked out over the sea toward the towering dun walls of Sunspear with a heart full of doubts. Never had he sailed so near to the fortress and capital, close enough now that he could make out the sprawl of a city in its shadow, his eyes skipping warily over the spear points of spiraling, gilt-roofed that pierced the sky above its walls. Only a few years ago, in his previous life, he had always given those same towers a wide and healthy berth while making for Planky Town, where there was always good trade to be found for a smuggler, and where the Martells laid their hand only lightly so as to lift it full of good coin.

But Sunspear was altogether something different, where House Martell ruled, and particular hands rested much more firmly on spears with wicked, deadly points.

“You still wish to remain aboard the ship during our stay.” It was entirely unlike a question, and for all that still entirely unlike Stannis to say; a self-evident truth.

“Yes, my lord. I think it wise. It is a delicate negotiation, no place for a man such as myself,” Davos responded, the words familiar and easy now, he had spoken them so many times as he had worked to convince Stannis that the last man he wanted at his side in Sunspear was Davos. Back at King’s Landing, and again on Dragonstone, and still more in the captain’s quarters belowdecks on several nights of their journey Davos had reluctantly explained to Stannis exactly why his presence at the Dornish court would be like tossing a heavy rock into a still pond. But Stannis only pressed his lips into a thin, severe line, just as he had each time before.

“If my brother required delicacy, he would not have sent _me_. Jon Arryn mouths gentle words tempered with steel. He reestablished the king’s peace, or something like it, when he brought Lewyn Martell’s bones to what’s left of his family last year,” Stannis said.

“The Hand of the King and Prince Doran are cautious men who have perhaps seen too much blood spilled,” Davos allowed.

“While my brother has not, and never will,” Stannis said curtly.

“My lord-” Davos began, but Stannis cut him off with a gesture.

“The game we play here is simple enough even for me, he thinks. Rumors fly on dark wings that Dorne will rise against us, whatever Doran might say. But Dorne has no strength at sea, thanks to history. Robert wishes them to be reminded that they might melt away into the desert and the mountains, but our ships could bear an army to these shores easily enough. So you see, Davos, my brother wants me only to be who I am, here; a simple lord of a simple rock, but one with many ships to command and a forbidding sort of face.”

“You serve your king well,” Davos said simply, for there was little else to say.

“My brother knows the battlefield like he was born to it,” Stannis observed. “But he has no head for history. Even the tales of embattled armies finding only doom in the Dornish deserts held little interest for him. I can but take scant comfort that he is not sensible enough of the absurdity of threatening Dorne from the sea to view this journey as a new humiliation to set upon my shoulders.” Davos made no reply, only pulled his gaze back from the rapidly-approaching fortress to settle on Stannis’s thoughtful expression, something almost akin to pride shining in his eyes as he studied Davos.

“I would have you with me, Davos. It may be the only bit of this pantomime worth something real. You are no longer a smuggler or pirate. You are pardoned, now, a knight and my leal servant, and if Oberyn Martell once knew you years ago, I think it only just that he now know the new man you have become.”

* * *

For all the bitterness of Dorne’s reluctant peace, and the specter of rebellion lurking in every shadow, Stannis was received with high ceremony and a tremendous feast held in the Tower of the Sun. Though Davos was seated at a lower table alongside other knights of Stannis’s household, his cup never wanted for rich Dornish red, and the table fairly groaned with platters of food that he could barely touch. His stomach was no stranger to Dornish spices, but he had eyes only for Stannis, seated at the high table next to Prince Doran, sipping iced lemonwater and eating sparingly. He found his own appetites limited to match his lord’s. When Davos could bear to pull his gaze from Stannis, he searched the crowd for another familiar face, but the Prince’s brother was nowhere to be seen, and if Stannis asked after him, Davos did not hear any reply the Prince might have made.

Prince Doran himself ate but little as well, nursing a cup of wine for long hours and murmuring brief words to Stannis, who responded in kind. Though the toasts he offered to King Robert and Stannis were polite, the prince was slow to rise to his feet and quick to sink back down into his chair afterwards, a sheen of sweat rising upon his brow. Eventually, he pleaded indisposition, and retired early, leaving Stannis seated nearly alone at the high table, even as the swirl of the Dornish court eddied and flowed among the tables below. His face was still, but Davos could see the strain in it, and the tension in his broad shoulders. Taking a swallow of warming wine to wet his throat, Davos rose to go to Stannis’s side-

-only to find himself confronted by the handsome, half-smiling face of Oberyn Martell as soon as he stood, the other man’s hand grasping his shoulder with easy familiarity. Both the smile and the touch caught the breath in Davos’s throat; the evening’s worries were suddenly swamped by a surging tide of tumultuous feelings as he smiled in return, the flex of Oberyn’s fingers brushing his neck conjuring memories tinged with heat.

“It has been a long time, my friend,” Oberyn said smoothly. “It is good to see you, Davos.”

“And you, my lord,” Davos replied, almost by rote, but the truth of the words surprised him.

“My lord? No, no. That won’t do. I will call you ser this once, as you have earned it, but I would prefer if you would call me Oberyn as you used to, Ser Davos Seaworth,” he said. There was fondness in his tone, but also amusement. It was as if he was simultaneously pleased for Davos and his rise in the world while also making mock of it.

But that was Oberyn, always: a knife sharp enough to cut both your opponent and your own hand when you reached to grasp it.

“My lo- Oberyn,” Davos corrected himself. “If that is your wish.”

“Oh, I wish for many things. I am a wishful, wanting, covetous sort of man, but you know this,” Oberyn said cheerfully, his expression turning sly as Davos’s heart drummed in his chest.

Davos did know it. It had been _years_ , and Oberyn still had a way about him, an ease and confidence that was devastating in its effect. Years ago Davos had a younger man’s cares (few) and a younger man’s sense (none at all); and Oberyn (not Martell, not then, that Davos had known) of the dark eyes and curving mouth had arrested his gaze in a Braavosi tavern with a laugh and a smile. Davos had been so taken with him that he’d hardly been suspicious of how fine the inn was that they’d retired to after Oberyn had returned his gaze with frank and charming directness, and it was only the next morning that he’d realized that he’d lain with a _prince_. But Oberyn, whatever his own fond memories, had turned them both to face the high table where Stannis was watching them both like a hawk. The pinched, taut lines of his face had hardened to solid granite, and Davos felt his heart skip a beat as Oberyn’s grasp tightened on his shoulder, the warmth of his palm like a burning brand.

“And what I desire most now is to learn more of _your_ friend, Davos. Come, introduce us.”

* * *

Despite the late hour, the suite of rooms given over to Stannis glowed, lit by dozens of candles that fluttered in the breeze coming off the water through arched windows and gauzy curtains. The heat of the day was beginning to give way to the chill of the night, and Davos was grateful for every breath of salt-tinged breeze. The room was all ornate gold gilt, fiery red fabric, and the orange of the high desert sun staining the brick walls; it still seemed to pulse with heat, despite the flow of air. Ever-practical, Stannis had set aside his usual spare woolen garb for clothing more suited to the climate, but sweat darkened the hair at his temples and dampened the fine linen of his shirt as he stood, spear-straight, in the center of the room, his arms across his chest.

Oberyn, on the other hand, lounged on one of the bright orange low couches in what appeared to be a comfortable, loose-limbed sprawl, though Davos had little doubt he would be on his feet and armed between one breath and the next if he chose. There was a familiar sort of patience in the line of his body, like that of a big cat stalking prey from a crouch in tall grasses. His eyes were half-lidded and glittered no less brightly than the golden sunbursts on his rich yellow jacket.

“Thank you for receiving me. I am sure you must be tired from your long journey and the many delights of the feast. I was delayed returning from a visit to one of our vassal houses enough to miss all of the festivities, earlier, but could not wait another night to make the acquaintance of such an important visitor,” Oberyn said, an easy smile curling his lips.

“Prince Doran received us with all appropriate ceremony,” Stannis replied simply. Oberyn laughed.

“Appropriate? Yes, that does tend to describe my brother. A good word. Appropriate,” he repeated, shaking his head.

“But no man has ever used that word to describe me,” Oberyn continued, cocking his head to the side. “A study in contrasts, he and I. And what of you and your brother?” Davos took a half-step toward them both from where he stood against the wall, an elegant cloth-of-gold tapestry at his back. Stannis narrowed his eyes, and there was a brief silence before he made his reply.

“We are different men, His Grace and I.” Oberyn nodded.

“So I have seen. I met your brother in the lists, before. A powerful warrior, to be sure. You do not ride in tourneys that I have ever seen, no?” When Stannis shook his head, Oberyn nodded, before continuing.

“Moreover, Robert surrounds himself. With friends and foes, with men and women, and wine and food. I do not judge him; these are all fine pursuits I enjoy myself. But you do not, I think. You arrive in Dorne on your brother’s business with very few words, few appetites, and few men. Save our friend Davos,” he said, finally letting his gaze slip beyond Stannis to land on Davos, who fought the urge to step back against the wall. Stannis followed his gaze, frowning slightly.

“Davos is worth more than any pack of foolish hangers-on,” Stannis replied coolly.

“Oh, I agree, I agree in full. And yet he has changed since I knew him. It has been some years, but not _so_ many that a man might be _so_ different. I find myself curious as to how it came to pass. They say your brother has a gift for inspiring friends and loyalty, but I cannot imagine that he could lop off a man’s fingers and bind him into such willing and loyal service.”

“My lord, I-” Davos began, but Oberyn interrupted him.

“I know, I know, you have said, and I have heard you. I want to hear it from him, now,” Oberyn said, turning his attention back to Stannis.

“Well?” he prompted.

“You said my brother could not lop off a man’s fingers and bind him into willing service,” Stannis said, finally. “This is incorrect.”

“Oh? Enlighten me.”

“He could. But he would not. He forgives, he forgets, he laughs and jokes and charms. It is his gift, but it is not one I share,” Stannis said. Oberyn smiled wider and shook his head slightly, but did not interrupt, this time.

“Robert would not pass judgment on Davos as I did. But having done it, my word is my bond, and his service to me is beyond question. He is my man, having earned that position, and I am his lord, with every responsibility that entails,” Stannis said firmly. Oberyn sat up, leaning forward to study Stannis frankly and curiously, intensity slipping into his voice, his words clipped and sharp. Davos’s skin prickled with wariness.

“Such contrasts are strange things in the gods’ design. In Dorne they call my birth after my brother’s a blessing - he is cautious where I am anything but, and I would have made different choices than he. He bends--oh, he does not break, but he bends--and I think that is true of your brother as well. But we do not bend, you and I, however different we might be.” Oberyn smiled suddenly, and slipped to his feet in a smooth, effortless motion, and walked across the room to Davos. Without hesitation he slipped his arm around Davos’s shoulders just as he had earlier in the evening, ducking his head a little to speak into his ear, though his voice was loud enough for Stannis to hear.

“I should have brought you into my service when I left the Second Sons and the Free Cities behind,” he said.

“I am honored that you think so. Even so, I don’t think I would have accepted the offer,” Davos replied. Oberyn’s eyebrows shot up toward his sharp widow’s peak in surprise, and then he laughed, clasping his hand to his own chest with apparent delight.

“Of course not! Not then. Not to me, fickle creature that I am. I was not even headed back to Dorne, then, I think. I left the company in Braavos and then headed to Lys, and what kind of fun would that have been, watching me bent over a mortar and pestle, learning from potion masters and maegi? No, you would have been right to refuse me, seeing what it has brought you now.” Stannis no longer crossed his arms across his chest, but he watched them with an expression that was as close to a smile as Davos had ever seen, and the same sort of possessive pride as on the ship earlier in the day.

“You are a fit match for one another, my old friend and new. Much changed and apparently unchangeable,” Oberyn continued, chuckling, before turning his gaze from Davos back to Stannis.

“But I lied, earlier, I am afraid. I must ask your forgiveness. I said I was unbending, I said we both were. But you know that’s not the truth of it, Davos. You must remember,” Oberyn said fondly, a knowing smile sharpening his face. Stannis frowned, but Davos let out an uneven breath, the heat of Oberyn’s hand atop his shoulder suddenly heavy.

“I am quite flexible, when the situation calls for it. I recall you to be a man of such talents as well, and we passed several fine nights such as this quite pleasantly. Tell me Davos, what about your new lord?” No words came easily to Davos in that moment, but he was saved from a reply by Stannis’s long-legged strides, as he needed only a few to cross the room and join them, his hand pressing briefly into Davos’s shoulder before releasing him. It was a sharp contrast to Oberyn’s lingering touches, but between the both of them Davos was half-dizzy with feeling, and Stannis’s sober mien was slightly flushed at Oberyn’s unsubtle suggestion. Neither of them recovered enough to speak, but Oberyn seemed to read what passed between them easily enough, his teeth flashing in a grin.

“So I see. What a match the gods have wrought in you,” he said. His hand slipped from Davos’s shoulder to cradle his neck, while he placed his other palm on Stannis’s arm, turning and nudging them closer together. Oberyn bent and pressed a kiss, swift but hardly chaste, to Davos’s mouth, even as his free hand remained clasped on Stannis’s arm. He tasted of Dornish red and honey-tinged memories, and Davos inhaled sharply, but Oberyn swiftly stepped back, a challenge and more besides in the hot gaze he turned on Stannis.

“Will you not show me? I found when I learned from the Maesters in Oldtown that I do learn best by observing,” he continued, stepping behind Davos and once more pushing him into Stannis’s arms. “But I am a quick study, I think you will find.”

Davos answered the request as well as the question in Stannis’s gaze by drawing him down into a hot, thorough kiss, his lord’s steady hands bearing him up, and Oberyn’s delighted laugh ringing in his ears.

**Author's Note:**

> While I did primarily draw on book canon for characterization and appearance to the best of my ability, that golden coat with sunbursts that Pedro Pascal wore in _Game of Thrones_ is absolutely burned into my subconscious and it had to feature here.


End file.
